Hardened feet beat the ground; their rhythm added to the sound of the small boy’s already labored breathing and pounding heart. Confused shouts sounded out from somewhere behind him, causing a spike of panic. He pushed himself to run faster, but already his strength was giving out.
Bitterness tugged at him. What did he expect? He had not eaten for about two days, and he cursed himself again for his stupidity. You never eat food thrown out by rich people, but he had been caught off guard. About two days ago, he found some food while he was looking for a safe place to sleep. It had probably been put there by some other unfortunate waif, but, finders keepers. He began to eat, elated at his find. There was enough food here for two meals. He would not have to risk going out in search of food until later tomorrow, and the food was so good. He paused . . . too good. It was the remains of a nobleman’s feast.
By the time he realized where the food had come from, it was too late. He spent the next two days sweating, vomiting, and shivering as the poisoned food worked its way through his body. But he survived. Yes, he survived, but his weakened condition resulted in the mistake which left him in this predicament. He heard hard soles striking the ground behind him and knew the soldiers had realized he was in this alley. Not daring to look back, he pressed forward, stumbling a little as his abused legs protested their ill treatment.
Finally, he reached the end of the alley and dashed out into the main market by the southern gate of the city. He was forced to slow down here in order not to draw attention to himself, but he didn’t mind. He could lose himself in the crowd here. He began to duck and wind his way through the throngs of people who were being unusually noisy for some reason. His head was throbbing and swimming. A wave of nausea hit him and then passed.
His plan had been to work his way through the crowd to a hiding place he knew of, and there wait for evening before venturing out for food again. However, he had never felt this weak before. If he did not get something to eat soon, his strength would give out completely, and then he would die. The streets were very dangerous at night, and he had seen the fate of many who became too weak to fight or run and hide. He did not like to think about what had happened to them.
Fate had been kind to him over the last two days, but he could not rely on something so fickle. He must find food immediately if he was to survive. A date was knocked out of a basket as its owner pushed her way through the crowd. The boy made his way over to the spot, and found the date trampled in the dirt. As the mass of people swept him past it, he scooped it up and put it in his mouth dirt and all.
The grit made chewing difficult, but he felt relief wash over his body (and the confusion of a stomach that suddenly has something to do) as the sweet (and slightly muddy) juice filled his mouth. This was good. If he could score a roll or two this way, he would not have to deviate from his original plan.
As he worked his way up the street, he tried to keep an eye out for other food on the ground, but his eyes refused to focus correctly, making the task extremely difficult. There! He spotted a whole loaf of bread! He went directly for it, relieved that his search was over. He could go rest now. Just before he reached the bread, rough hands grabbed his arm and neck and slammed him into the hard earth of the street.
Despair sank its cold teeth into his soul. Mistake number three. It was over. In the haze of his exhaustion, he had failed to notice the odd way the crowd moved to avoid trampling the loaf. It had been an obvious trap, and he fell for it.